There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Hello? Are you there?” I asked.
“I’m here. What kind of tip?”
“A good tip. I was just in Pete Sinclair’s house, and I found his missing coins in a dresser drawer under his swim trunks. He was lying about them being stolen.”
Hank kept his eyes on the road, but Nancy must have wrenched her neck for as fast as her head swiveled around to frown at me. I’m sure she didn’t approve of my snooping through a homeowner’s belongings when viewing a house.
Glenn whispered loudly beside me, “Jo, hang up. Hang up right now.”
I shook my head and turned away from him.
“We were talking to him about his missing bride, which I’m sure you’re aware of, and when I went to use his bathroom, I took a quick look around and found the coins. He needs to explain why he tried to frame me.”
“Where are you?” the detective asked. “Can you come by the station?”
Glenn was pawing at my arm now. “Hang up,” he insisted.
When I pulled away again, he reached across my body, grabbed the phone from my hand, and disconnected the call.
“What’d you do that for? I want him to go talk to Pete and find out why he lied about those stupid coins.”
“For starters, you admitted going through Pete’s belongings, so that’s an illegal search.”
“I’m not an officer of the law, so it doesn’t matter. Looking through his things is no worse than Pepper snooping through medicine chests.”
“Trust me. There’s a difference, and Pete will never admit to lying. It’s going to look like you tried to put the coins you stole back where you found them. Pete Sinclair can press charges a whole lot easier now.”
“Poppycock. I’m telling the truth.”
Hank caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Who says poppycock? Don’t ever use that word again, and for the record, I believe you, but no one else will. What were you doing snooping through his stuff anyway?”
“He says his wife is missing, but I thought it was strange there weren’t any of her belongings in the house. I was also looking for clues as to who the bride and groom were I saw this morning.”
“What bride and groom?” Nancy asked.
I could tell by the look on Glenn’s face he didn’t want me to say anything, but that didn’t stop me. I filled them in on the events in the back yard and Pete’s story of his missing wife.
“You had to be imagining it,” Hank said. “No one else saw anything, and Glenn knocked on the door when we first got there. There wasn’t anyone home. You breathed too many fragrant flowers and had a hallucination.”
Nancy looked sympathetic. “I believe you, Jo. I think the missing bride wore her dress and threw Mr. Sinclair’s twin brother, who was really her husband, over the cliff, so she could be with his brother. You haven’t been talking with Pete. You’ve been talking with George, or Sam, or Brett – or whatever his name is.”
Now we were getting somewhere. The idea was completely absurd, but at least she had one, and it gave me something to consider. Maybe a relative of Pete’s was wearing the dress. I’d have to find out if he had a sister.
“I didn’t imagine anything, Hank,” I said. “I found the wedding dress in a bedroom closet. It has grass stains on it from when she fell down.”
Glenn put his hand up to stop the conversation. “Wait. There’s no point in discussing this. We don’t have enough information or time to come up with any solutions. Pete has his coins, and there are no charges filed against Jo. That’s the main thing. Let’s take that helicopter ride and enjoy what’s left of our day.”
Hank and Nancy were quick to agree. Both seemed relieved to hear his suggestion. I didn’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud, so I agreed as well, but I knew there was something strange going on with Pete Sinclair and the events at the house on the cliff.
Chapter Five
Because of Pickles Bunwich, I was ten minutes late meeting Jackie for lunch at Parker’s Tavern.
I was long past the time where I searched for missing animals, but Ethel Bunwich’s pleas for help in finding her missing cat were stronger than my objections to the job. Pickles was over ten years old, blind in one eye, and missing most of the hair on her tail. The raggedy cat was the elderly woman’s only companion.
By the time I had all the details, including the fact that Pickles had her name changed from Georgie to Pickles when Ethel caught her on the kitchen counter eating from an open jar of pickle relish, I knew I’d be late meeting Jackie. I didn’t ask why an open jar of relish was on the counter for fear of incurring an additional ten minutes of the cat’s life story.
I raced out of my office, and before yanking open the door connecting our offices to the tavern, I called over to Nancy that I was having lunch with Jackie. She was on the phone but threw a hand up in the air to let me know she heard me.
Jackie was perched on a stool at the bar and appeared to be in a heated discussion with Parker. As usual, I couldn’t help marveling at her beauty. Her red hair flowed in waves halfway down her back and was striking against an emerald green suit jacket. Her shapely legs extended from a matching skirt and ended in a pair of cute white tennis shoes. This was a departure for her. She was usually in heels.
“They have the best pitching in all of baseball this year,” she said with exuberance.
Parker shook his head. “Their starters are ok, but the bullpen sucks. They’ll fall apart after the All-Star break. You’ll see.”
Jackie opened her purse, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and slapped it on the counter. “A hundred bucks says they’re in the series this year.”
Parker walked over to the register and counted out five twenties. He dropped them on Jackie’s hundred. “I’ll take that bet.”
I had already situated myself on the stool next to Jackie. Parker looked over with eyebrows raised and asked, “You want a piece of this, Jo?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t watched a ball game in years. I wouldn’t know good pitching from bad.”
Jackie’s smile was radiant. A quick glance around the bar showed every man within sight of her was sending appreciative glances her way.
Parker grabbed the money, tucked it into a small envelope, and slid it under the drawer in the register. “Since I’m the one who’s going to win, I’ll hold onto the money.” He winked at me and moved down the bar to wait on a customer.
I let out what felt like a pent-up breath of air. It had been a busy Monday morning, and it felt good to take a break and have lunch with Jackie.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Ethel Bunwich’s cat is missing. I couldn’t get off the phone with her.”
“Pickles is missing? That’s not good. I wrote an article last year about how elderly people are affected when a pet goes missing or dies, especially if the elderly person no longer has their spouse. Ethel will worry herself sick until her cat is found.”
I immediately regretted taking the case. It wasn’t that difficult to find a dog. You could canvass a neighborhood, and more than likely, several people had seen the animal. Cats were sneaky and hid during the day. You had to go on night patrol to find a cat, and it was nearly impossible to find one that was a house pet and scared out of its mind in the wilds of the suburbs. I knew I’d feel responsible for Ethel’s eventual death when I couldn’t find her cat.
Parker came back to take our orders. After putting several pounds on in Hawaii, I was trying to eat lighter and ordered a salad. Jackie went for a BLT with extra bacon. I almost changed my order but stuck with the salad.
“You look wonderful,” she said. “Married life agrees with you, and the suntan is pretty great, too.”
We’d been home for five days now. I’d only had a few minutes on the phone to fill Jackie in on what happened with Pete Sinclair and Natalie Ping. I had needed a couple of days to recover from jet lag and hadn’t had an opportunity to see her in person until today.
I couldn’t hold ba
ck a big grin. “So far, so good. I’m still having a little trouble adjusting to my name. Half the time, I’m answering the phone as Jo Ravens, the other half as Jo Wheeler. I probably should have continued to use Ravens for work. We wouldn’t have to change the name on the door, I wouldn’t get so tongue-tied, and I wouldn’t need new business cards.”
“I did that for a while,” Jackie said. “When Matt and I were first married, I used my maiden name of Grant for nearly a year. Then I switched to Grant-Ryder. When I went to work for the Buxley Beacon, the editor at the time asked if I’d write copy under Grant or Ryder but not both. He was a crusty old fart, and I don’t think he liked women using hyphenated names, so I went with Ryder. In retrospect, I probably should have used Ryder from the get-go.”
I nodded. “I’ll stick with Wheeler. I’ll get used to it soon enough. How are things going at the school?”
Jackie was covering a scandalous story involving the superintendent of the Buxley school system. The woman allegedly downloaded pornography onto the school’s computers and gave select senior members of the football team the password for viewing. Additional charges accusing her of fixing grades for the team had also been leveled against her. She was an attractive woman, and parents were in an uproar that she may have even been sleeping with one of the boys. Jackie’s husband, Matt, of Rose and Ryder Associates, was representing the school’s interests, causing both of them to have their hands full. They had been forced to pass on Lucille’s offer of a free vacation in Hawaii.
“It’s an ugly story,” she said. “Heather Wood is the consummate professional, and I can’t shake the feeling she’s completely innocent.”
“But you’ve already reported the evidence against her is overwhelming.”
“I know, but my instincts are usually right. Heather’s attorney won’t allow me to interview her, but I’m going to keep trying.” She leaned down to reach into a side pocket of her briefcase, pulled out a folder, and tossed it onto the bar in front of me. “I have something for you.”
Inside were two news articles. One was from a Hawaiian newspaper and the other from the Chicago Tribune. Both contained the same information. Natalie Ping was no longer missing. Her body had washed up on a private beach on Oahu. There were no details pertaining to how she died, nor was there any speculation as to how she ended up in the ocean. Most surprising to me was that there was no mention of her marriage to Pete Sinclair. Both articles mainly dealt with the family’s history and rise to the top in the soap industry.
“How did you get these?” I asked.
“After you told me she was missing, I set alerts at news outlets in Hawaii and Chicago. If her name came up in a broadcast or newspaper, I’d get a link to the information. I was pinged for several broadcasts and these two articles this morning. I expect the story will make the national news tonight.”
I hadn’t forgotten the events in Hawaii, but since returning home, I hadn’t really pondered them either. The newspaper articles brought the events to the forefront of my mind again.
Natalie’s parents had whisked her away from Pete’s timeshare, and he believed his wife would simply show up after he returned home to Chicago. This was an unexpected twist. What happened to her after her parents took her? They said she was missing, but did they actually know what happened to her?
“Do you think she was murdered?” I asked.
Jackie shrugged. “Her death could have been a boating or swimming accident. They’re more common than you think. We won’t know for certain until the details are released.” She knew me well enough to know the wheels were spinning overtime in my mind and asked, “You’re thinking this has something to do with the bride and groom on the cliff at Pete’s house?”
“Actually, no. I was wondering what happened to Natalie after her parents snatched her away from Pete. Why did she leave their house, and where did she go? No one mentioned any signs of a struggle, so she either left on her own, or she left with someone – probably someone she knew. Pete didn’t seem worried about her, but something happened after her parents took her.”
Jackie smiled. I couldn’t help staring for a few seconds at her perfect and perfectly white teeth. The woman had no flaws.
“I agree it’s a mystery, but Jo, you can’t possibly think there’s anything you can do from here. I didn’t show the articles to you so you could follow up on them. I only wanted to keep you updated as the story unfolds. My alerts are still in place. If I get any more information, I’ll let you know.”
I nodded my head in agreement, but I had a gut feeling there was something I could do. I just didn’t know what it was.
Parker brought our meals, and for the next hour, Jackie listened while I expounded on our adventures in Hawaii. She nearly choked when I told her Roger urinated on Mama’s leg when she thought she’d been stung by a jellyfish. There was no evidence there were jellyfish in the area, but Mama told anyone who would listen that Roger saved her life.
After lunch, I left Jackie at the bar to continue talking baseball with Parker. I shoved the newspaper articles in my bag and headed over to Ethel Bunwich’s part of town. She lived in the middle of the six hundred block of Kapinski Street. I parked at the end of the block and knocked on the door of the first house.
A small, wiry old man with glasses two sizes too big for his head answered the door. I handed my card to him.
“Hi. I’m Jo Wheeler.”
I hesitated. I knew I had just given him a name other than the one on the card. I didn’t know if I should address my recent marriage or simply continue. I opted to keep talking. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Ethel Bunwich’s cat, Pickles. Do you know her, and have you seen her around?”
“Who? Ethel or the cat? I saw Ethel last week at the supermarket. Her cart was filled with cat food and pickle relish. I think she eats what the cat eats. There should be a law. It’s not right when senior citizens like us are reduced to eating cat food.”
I smiled. “I’m sure she doesn’t eat cat food. She was probably stocking up.” He didn’t seem reassured. “Have you seen her cat?”
“Nope, but Gordon Berger has. He scraped that mangy cat off Seventh Street yesterday morning.”
My mouth hung open for a moment. “Are you sure?”
He nodded his head vigorously. It seemed for a moment his huge glasses would fly off his face. He pushed them back onto the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. “That cat is the ugliest cat in the world. He knew it was the Bunwich cat.”
“Did he tell Ethel? What did he do with Pickles?”
“He didn’t tell her. His wife said we should let her think the cat might come back, so he buried it in his garden.”
I asked which house was the Berger’s and made my way down the block. After confirming with Gordon that he did indeed shovel Pickles off the road yesterday morning and buried her in his garden, I left and knocked on Ethel’s door. She had a right to know what happened to her cat, but I knew I couldn’t tell her just yet.
When she answered the door, I did my best to put on a genuine smile. “Hi, Mrs. Bunwich. I’m Jo Ravens.” I hesitated again. Did I tell her this morning I was Jo Wheeler? Before I could continue, she became excited.
“Do you have news for me already? Have you found my Pickles?”
I didn’t want to lie to her, so I sidestepped her questions. “I stopped by to see if you have a recent picture of Pickles.”
She opened the door wider for me to come in, but a strong cat box odor wafted out the open doorway. I pointed to a wicker bench on the porch. “It’s a nice day. I’ll wait out here. Take your time.”
I began mentally kicking myself again for agreeing to find the cat. I wasn’t good when it came to consoling people. I knew I should tell Ethel the truth right now, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, even though it felt wrong to let her continue to have hope.
She was back almost immediately. The picture she handed to me was of her sitting in a rocking chair with Pickles curled up on her
lap. The strange, hairless tail looked freaky as it curled around the front of the animal. One eye appeared to be looking off to the left. I assumed it was the blind eye. My heart sank further.
I thanked her and slipped the photo into my bag. “I’ll get this back to you soon.”
“I don’t care about the picture. I want my Pickles back.” She shook her finger in my face, but there was kindness in her voice. “Don’t let me down.”
My smile felt more like a grimace. “I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Bunwich.”
I felt like crap when I climbed into my truck. My mind was occupied with how to handle the situation, and I was more than a little surprised to realize I had been driving on autopilot and had just entered the cul-de-sac at the end of Clark Street.
Was my mind subconsciously driving me home – to my old home before I moved in with Glenn? Or, wanting to talk with someone, did I instinctively drive to Pepper’s house?
I pulled into Pepper’s driveway.
I couldn’t help looking at my house across the way. I still owned it. Now that Glenn and I were married, there wasn’t any reason to hold onto it any longer. Clay Carpenter, Glenn’s partner at the police department, was renting it from me. I didn’t like the idea of finding a new tenant and handling more of the duties of a property owner if Clay ever decided to move out. Maybe he would consider buying the place.
Pepper’s car was in the driveway, and the garage door was up. I made my way through the garage and opened the door into the kitchen.
“Hello?” I called out.
“In here,” Pepper said from the dining room.
I walked into the room and couldn’t believe the sight before me. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the last time you tried this?” I asked.
Keith sat at the end of the table. His head and arms stuck out through holes he had cut in a large garbage bag. Clear plastic wrap had been duct-taped to the front of the fedora he had inherited from his grandfather. I couldn’t help smiling at his ingenuity.
Murder Wears a Veil Page 5
